


Uncomfortable

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd lost nearly everyone he cared about during the war; he'd eventually forced himself to find new people to care about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncomfortable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [koshweasley](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=koshweasley).



**Warnings / Content:** Language, angst, EWE, implied character deaths, misuse of old bus stops.  
 **Prompt:** _Walking through a rainy night._  
  
  
“Does it ever fucking stop raining here?” Ron spat through the downpour, trying to recede further into his coat, which was pointless as it was sodden anyway.  
  
Seamus' only response was to swear and keep walking. As Ron saw it, they were miles from anywhere, walking in the pissing rain, howling wind and unbelievable darkness. They both had their wands alight but he could barely see his feet as they walked The rain and wind were deafening in an otherwise quiet night – so different to how it had been on their way to Seamus' choice pub.  
  
“I'm loving my holiday,” Ron shot acidly over the roar. He shuddered and tried to force his jaw into staying still.  
  
Shivers overcame him and could not be stopped. The fingers gripping onto his wand were frozen in place, he was sure.  
  
“It's not even my feckin' fault!” Seamus burst out randomly, slashing the air with his wand. A beam of light danced over the potholed tarmac. “You're the reason we couldn't apparate.”  
“Oh, I'm _sorry_!” Ron hollered sarcastically. “For getting injured whilst trying to stop my brother going psycho!”  
“Poor Ronnie, he's so feckin' hard done by,” Seamus retorted viciously.  
  
Stung, Ron fell silent and they marched on without further comment. The rain fell harder. The wind blew harder. Staying upright became harder, too. He tried to shiver quietly and not provoke more of Seamus' anger.  
  
Inwardly he berated himself. Their relationship was too new for him to let his mouth run away with him. A matter of months. He'd lost nearly everyone he cared about during the war; he'd eventually forced himself to find new people to care about to save going as mad as George had with grief. And Seamus had been there – rugged, beaten up Seamus, with a filthy mouth and a surprising penchant for lanky, redheaded boys. Ron had never really thought about being sexually attracted to men before. It hadn't taken long under the ministrations of Seamus' tongue for him to give it serious consideration. He'd been eighteen when the war ended and stood at just under twenty-two in the freezing Irish night.  
  
Seamus had asked him to Ireland to meet his family. Ron had been apprehensive, remembering Seamus' mother for all the wrong reasons at Hogwarts. But, to her credit, she had been welcoming and kind, though perhaps soft on him for his bereavements. Seamus' Muggle father had been friendly and eager to keep his son happy. Ron felt comfortable in their home even though it was vastly different to The Burrow. The thought of his childhood home caused a lump to rise in his throat. They'd briefly considered rebuilding it, but when it came to it, nobody could bear to tear what was left down or put new bricks in its place. They'd retrieved all of the family possessions that were still intact and sealed the building off from the elements and intruders. Then they'd walked away.  
  
Ron bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. The skin was constantly in tatters. He didn't care.  
  
“Feck this for a pot of gold,” Seamus cried suddenly, and Ron yelped as his upper right arm was yanked. He stumbled sideways, into Seamus, and then, miraculously out of the rain. “ _Don't_ look around. Close your eyes.”  
  
Seamus poked him in the chest with a finger to prompt obedience. Ron held his breath and did as he was told. There'd been several close arachnid encounters at one point during the war. His fear had increased tenfold. If Seamus told him to shut his eyes, then he'd shut his eyes, because if they understood one thing about each other, it was how fear paralysed them both. Especially now that it was all over. It seemed their ability to cope with fear was run dry by the years of fighting and worrying over their loved ones. Seamus had lost his friends; Ron had lost both friends and family.  
  
Heat washed over him.  
  
“Open up.” Seamus was in front of him, warming his hands over blue flames. They gave what turned out to be a grey concrete rectangle of a room a spooky glow.  
“What is this place?”  
“Old bus stop. The buses were never regular and now they don't come at all. Nobody's probably been in here for years, even the yobs haven't bothered to deface it.”  
  
It was true. Having been cleaned out by Seamus, the space was quite clean and sparse. An old bench ran along one side. The Irish wizard arranged himself on the floor by the fire and Ron followed suit. His jaw continued to judder, however. Seamus pointed his wand at him.  
  
“I'll stop!” Ron joked weakly, holding up both hands. “No need to hex.”  
“Don't be a twat,” Seamus tossed back. “This is a little something Dean taught me... before...”  
  
Silence wedged between them. Ron couldn't help a little moan as a heating spell worked up through his clothes, soothing over his skin and drying him out. He tilted his head back on the wall and felt his muscles relax.  
  
“Thank you...” he sighed with relief.  
“It'd be a bit shit if, after everything, pneumonia finished you off,” Seamus said bluntly.  
  
Ron laughed. The sound was brash and awkward in the small, confined space. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling his cheeks burning.  
“Don't.”  
“I said sorry-”  
“No, I mean... don't stop laughing. You're beautiful when you laugh.”  
  
Seamus was often coarse. He had the sense of humour of a child. He swore so much that his mother had given up shouting at him over it. He made lewd sexual remarks in company. Those things attracted Ron, but the short, unexpected dashes of tenderness took his breath away. Once, when he'd been making Seamus a cup of tea in his flat back in London, he'd been told he was gorgeous when he concentrated.  
  
Whether it was the shock of Seamus saying the words, or the fact anybody would think them of him, Ron had not yet found a way to be comfortable with such outward displays of attraction.  
  
“And you don't do it nearly enough...”  
  
Ron waited by the wall as Seamus rose up onto his knees and shuffled towards him. With the flames flickering and the spell, he was growing warmer and warmer. Seamus shrugged out of his own coat and tossed it in an unoccupied corner to grow musty and creased. Scarred hands touched to Ron's own; their fingers laced together. Seamus pressed his lips to each one in turn. Ron felt himself blushing again. Seamus smiled to see it.  
  
“It rains a lot,” he said finally. He pulled a face. “Shit happens. We adapt. You need a better coat. Tomorrow you can have one of mine.”  
“Won't be hard to beat this piece of crap,” Ron mused.  
“City boy,” Seamus teased.  
“Oy, I grew up in the country just like you,” Ron reminded him. “Mucking out chickens and pigs... frozen pipes. No hot water.”  
“But now you live in London and you squeak at a bit of horse shit.”  
“That horse tried to shit on me!”  
  
Seamus shook his head and sniggered.  
  
“Are we just going to sit here all night?” Ron asked dubiously.  
“Well... I didn't plan on doing much sitting, but if that's what you want...” Seamus sighed and started to pull away.  
“No no no... please, continue.”  
“Feckin' whore.”  
  
Ron grinned and for the first time in a good while felt it reach deep into his psyche and heart.  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
